Frey by Melissa Wright Page B

someone to teach me… and
you’re…” I was in danger of rambling.
    He was looking at me as if I had just
professed cannibalism.
    “ I’ll need food and… well,
and shelter.”
    “ I don’t understand…” He
appeared concerned, like I might have been mentally ill.
    “ I’ve lost my mentor. Can
you teach me magic? Help me, so I don’t do something out of order,
hurt myself?”
    His eyebrows drew together as he began to
reply.
    A branch snapped at the edge of the clearing
and his head turned instantly. I sucked in a harsh breath as I saw
Chevelle walking toward us. The elf that had been sitting with me,
jovial since I’d met him, was now in a fiercely protective stance
in front of me. I leaned around him to see, placing my hand on his
leg as I angled my head past it. That broke his stare and he looked
down at me. I watched Chevelle, still walking toward us, casual, as
if there weren’t two angry panthers preparing to pounce on him. I
must have appeared about as threatening as a mad kitten because the
leg I was gripping shook a little with laughter. I turned my angry
gaze on him and he raised his hands in surrender, still laughing
quietly.
    “ I take it you know him?” he
asked.
    “ He’s following me,” I
announced loudly.
    His eyes were concerned for a moment so I
relaxed my anger and stood behind him. Chevelle approached us and
looked directly at me, ignoring the large elf between us. He seemed
for one half second irritated then relieved before his features
melted back into the standard polite sternness. I started to berate
him for being my watcher but then I remembered I was on the run. I
remembered the elf in front of me; I remembered and decided to keep
my mouth shut about everything.
    A large arm wrapped around my shoulder and
drew me forward. “Introduce us, Buttercup.” I grimaced. He was
certainly enjoying himself.
    Chevelle held his hand out in a formal
greeting. “Chevelle Vattier.”
    “ Vattier, eh?” I thought I
heard him under his breath, “ well you can
call me Bonnie Bell .” Chevelle waited
unmoved for his response. He finally held his hand out in return,
“Steed. Steed Summit.”
    They both shot me a
disbelieving glare as a giggle slipped out. Of course that was his name . I
struggled to stay composed. At least I finally knew someone with a
cornier name than mine.
    I realized he was still staring at me. He
didn’t seem to think it was funny at all. “Our lineage is long and
we breed the best stallions in the land.”
    Chevelle spoke up as if he had been the
intended recipient of the comment. “Yes, I have heard much
regarding the lines of Free Runner and Grand Spirit. Tell me, is
that what brings you out this far?”
    They carried on the exchange
and Chevelle explained we’d be needing horses. Great, so that’s it, huh? Going back to the village. Sentence
by council. Plans were made for a trade,
Steed would bring in the herd and we would choose in the morning.
They kept talking, settling into conversation. Steed offered
Chevelle what was left of the roast and they sat, Chevelle beside
me and Steed across from us, forming a triangle. I picked up the
canteen and choked down more wine.
    The evening carried on and though the
conversation still held a formal tone, neither man talking of
anything personal, they seemed to be getting along. I faded in and
out of the various discussions, listening occasionally but never
talking. Steed seemed very aware of me. He was looking at me in a
way no one ever had. It must have been obvious because when he
excused himself to check the herd, Chevelle studied me, sliding a
strand of my now black hair through his fingers. “It suits
you.”
    Maybe it was the wine, but
as I looked at him, my anger was fading. It was hard to believe the
concern wasn’t real. His eyes burned with intensity; they seemed
even darker now. Dark… like
mine . I looked away.
    Steed broke in through the trees.
    “ They aren’t
far.”
    As he approached, he glanced at me